


Something in the Water

by MsThunderFrost



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Retail, Cable is a Retired Soldier, Cashier!Ellie, Cashier!Wade, Established Relationship, Harassment, Humor, Inappropriate Humor, Jealous Cable, Jealousy, M/M, Pansexual Wade Wilson, Plumber!Cable, Racism, Seriously I Couldn't Make This Shit Up If I Tried, Sexual Harassment, Slut Shaming, True Stories, Wade Wilson Needs A Hug, Wade is Cable's Damsel in Distress, a day in the life
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-12
Updated: 2018-07-22
Packaged: 2019-06-09 04:59:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15259935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MsThunderFrost/pseuds/MsThunderFrost
Summary: Because working as a mercenary is pretty much the same as working in retail, right?In which Nathan Summers looks too good to be true in a bright pink, frilly apron, Wade Wilson has to be the world's worst cashier - he's seen some shit... shit that cannot be unseen, and Negasonic Teenage Warhead may or may not be drinking booze at her register.





	1. A Day in the Life

**Author's Note:**

> So yeah... most, if not all of the stories you'll see here are based on real stories I've experienced in my two years of working retail. I assure you, some of the stuff that you'll see here is so far out into left field, I couldn't make it up if I tried.
> 
> This started as a cathartic writing exercise that was supposed to only be one chapter long. I now realize I have enough fodder to make a full-length, multi-chapter fanfic dedicated exclusively to the horrors of retail, along with my pitiful attempt at "hiding my pain behind a mask of humor" (<3 b/c Cable is love). Yay me... 
> 
> Also, because I live under a rock and had to Google a villain for this fic, here is the link to the wiki page where you'll get the lowdown on scum of the earth, Ink: http://x-men.wikia.com/wiki/Ink
> 
> Trigger warnings for this chapter: racism, harassment/sexual harassment and slut shaming, etc.

It was a day like any other. Wade had rolled out of bed at ass-crack o’clock only to clock in twelve minutes late. His manager, who’d had a stick shoved so far up his ass his speech had been slurred for the past three days (he was still sore at the new girl, who’d managed to rack up a whopping _fifteen_ voids in one shift), had started in on him about something or other as soon as he set foot behind the register… That man only seemed to have one volume: _deafening_.

Most days, he was by himself on the register until the store opened for breakfast at 9:30. Normally, he wouldn’t mind – it gave him time to work on his manicure and ogle the _other_ manager’s ass. The man might’ve been skinny as the day was long, but _damn_ , his ass was tight enough to bounce a quarter off of. Wade _may_ have tried it once or twice… or forty-seven times.

And while he’d rather shoot a kitten than be awake before ten in the morning, he had to admit that it was almost… _peaceful_ … being in the store before-hours. He could sip at his bean juice like a real, bona fide adult and daydream about all of the yummy, yummy food his hubby would have waiting for him back at the apartment.

There were no screaming customers demanding that he learn to cook food via the power of positive thinking (AKA, _positively_ wanting them to shut their mouth before he shut it for them), no tiny children so desperate for attention they decided to play basketball with the glassware (and mommy-dearest was _still_ to absorbed in her cell phone to give two shits), no coworkers being passive-aggressive twats when your break was thirty-seconds over because sometimes, dammit, nature calls.

The only downside was Ink.

Ink worked in facilities (thank Jeebus that man did not work with the food – Wade had stumbled into a wall of _stink_ when he’d gone to the bathroom the other day, the other man exiting one of the barely-functioning stalls only to completely bypass the sinks and head back out onto the floor), but that didn’t stop him from stopping by Wade’s register at least once a day with something snide to say. _Oh look, here comes the idiot now,_ Wade sighed, taking a long sip of his coffee.

There wasn’t enough fucking coffee in the world.

“You have such a handsome face.” Wade snorted so hard that coffee came out of his nose – oh yeah, because that was _definitely_ the most attractive thing that he’d ever seen. “How come you never smile?”

Wade grabbed a napkin and started to clean the mess of coffee and snot from his scarred face, trying to understand what exactly it was that had the younger practically _drooling_ over him. “Why does my face concern you so much?”

Ink, looking every bit as intimidating as a walking, talking biohazard should, laughed, “’Cause you look evil as shit like that.”

Wade rolled his eyes, “Don’t you have something better to do than terrorize me?”

The bastard had the nerve to _pout_ , “You’re no fun.”

The man was like a broken _fucking_ record, playing the same damn song on repeat all the day long. It wasn’t even a _good_ song. It was the filler song, the one that the artist didn’t really care about but wrote because the album _needed_ to have twelve songs like a dying man in the desert needed water. Maybe it wouldn’t be quite so annoying if he could tune in to another station every so often, because _damn_ he _really_ wanted to use one of Cable’s precious guns to temporarily deafen himself.

Ink disappeared, probably to go crawl back into whatever trash can he hatched from, and Wade fixed himself a new cup of coffee. It was about time for Negasonic to come in, and she did, eventually, show up… a whole thirty-two minutes and five seconds late. She snapped at her gum obnoxiously and drank from a black-tinted water bottle that probably contained more booze than water. Wade couldn’t blame her – some nights he’d be drinking beer straight from the tap if Nate would let him.

He was pulled out of his little reverie by a man saddling up on the wrong side of his register, “I’ll take a double shot of espresso.”

Wade rang it through the register, the man’s total displayed in large, luminescent green. “That’ll be $1.06.”

“Really?” The man was _already_ shaking, and Wade briefly wondered how much caffeine the man had had _before_ coming here and encroaching ever-closer on his personal bubble. “Make it a triple, then!”

Wade shrugged, “It’s free refills. You do you, sweet cheeks.”

He strolled over to Negasonic’s register, watching as she rang out a lady that couldn’t seem to find the coffee cups that were right in front of her face. The punk-y teen turned to him, popping her gum in his face; the sticky substance stuck to his scarred flesh, conjoining their faces – they could’ve made a real name for themselves in a circus freak show.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of espresso-guy, already headed back to the cappuccino machine for another shot of caffeine. Negasonic grimaced as she pulled the gum off of his face, wadding it into a piece of receipt paper and tossing it into the trash can. Wade could still feel the sticky little remnants all along his scar tissue.

“I saw Ink slinking away with his tail between his legs when I came in. I suppose that you had something to do with that.” She said, her tone dripping disinterest. She drummed her black nails on the counter, clearly contemplating her life choices.

“He came sniffing around here earlier.” Wade conceded, pulling an emery board seemingly out of nowhere and beginning to file his nails. “I told him to take a hike.”

Negasonic looked terribly unimpressed, “You know that he’s just flirting with you, right?”

Wade waggled his ring finger in front of her face, “I’m not _that_ desperate. I’m a _mostly_ happily married man, honeybun.”

“I wonder what would happen if your ‘precious hubby’ found out about your secret admirer.” She said, allowing herself to be whisked away in the bloody daydream. “I wonder how long it’d take to clean brain matter out of carpet.”

“They’d probably have to replace the whole damn thing.” He continued, playing along. “That’d have to be good for what? One, two days off?” He looked down at the carpet, which was such an appealing shade of baby-puke green…

“Excuse me!” Both turned to see espresso-guy at the machine _again_ , “You guys are all out of milk!”

Espresso-guy was on his fifth shot when Wade began to think that maybe, just maybe, this would turn out to be one of those days that went down in the history books as royally fucked from the start. The man’s pacing like a caged animal, running thick fingers through his thinning hair and pounding away at a gut that’s clearly seen too many beers. His mouth was moving a mile a minute, the sound less than intelligible. Negasonic wanted to hit the panic button. Wade wanted to record it for posterity.

Wade went on his first break just as espresso-guy was headed for round seven. He was deeply engrossed in a one-way sexting war with his husband (the retired soldier had taken up plumbing – Nate had always liked sticking his tool into moist, dark enclosed spaces – and the sexts practically wrote themselves) and didn’t notice that Ink was chilling on a ladder right outside of the doors leading into the employee-only area. That was, of course, until something long and thin _poked_ him.

“What the actual fuck?” Wade did something that might’ve been reminiscent of karate, slapping the rod away with more force than necessary. He glared up at the tiny, bald man, wishing that heat-vision worked like it did in the movies…

“You look like you want to hit someone. You’ll be able to do some serious damage with this.” He said, grinning.

Wade sincerely wanted to test that theory. “Leave me alone.”

Ink was snickering to himself, as if Wade’s reaction had been somehow amusing. “Such a handsome face shouldn’t be ruined with such an ugly expression -,” Wade just kept walking, shutting him and the rest of the store out.

The busser came into the back room to tell the manager that espresso-guy was now on his ninth cup of coffee and twirling up and down the aisles. He was instilling fear into the hearts of little children and causing a plague upon the houses of the coworkers. And if you think that that is where the story ends, clearly, you’ve never worked in retail.

\--

It wasn’t often that Nate was feeling domestic.

Nate was in the kitchen, wearing the pinkest, frilliest apron that Wade had ever seen – in fact, Wade’s almost positive that the apron is actually _his_ – and whistling _Twisted Nerve_ under his breath. If Wade had actually made an attempt to make it through the first season of _American Horror Story_ , he might be slightly more concerned to hear his violence-loving hubby whistling a tune that had come to be synonymous with mass murder.

“Did you make my lunch?” Wade asked, sneaking up behind the smaller man and resting his head atop the man’s prosthetic shoulder. “That’s so cute! Did you cut the sandwich the way I like it – a cute little heart, with no crusts?”

He reached out, grabbing one of the strawberries from the bowl of freshly chopped fruit Nate had prepared. Nate smacked his hand with a rubber spatula, “Behave, or you can bet your sweet ass that I’ll never do it again.”

Wade raised his hands innocently, “What’s the special occasion?”

Nate shrugged, “It’s the first time this week I didn’t have to smoke you out of bed to get you to work on time. I figured my extra hour of peace was worth celebrating.”

Wade’s bottom lip jutted out pitifully, “B-But… I thought that you _liked_ getting up with me in the morning.”

“Have you _seen_ yourself in the morning?” Nate turned to him, mouth agape. “Just remember, I know where to bury you where they’ll never find your body.” He said, innocently slipping his beautifully made sandwich into a Ziploc baggie.

“You know, not all couples can joke about mariticide after watching _Investigation Discovery_ for five hours straight…”

Nate raised an eyebrow, “Who said anything about joking?”

Nate had made him his favorite holiday tea – white peppermint with cardamom, lemon, cinnamon, and honey – in his favorite travel mug. It was turquoise and pink and had ‘ **DON’T YOU WISH YOUR COFFEE WAS HOT LIKE ME?** ’ written on the side is huge, block letters. His hubby had bought it for him after he’d caught him prancing around the house, au natural, attempting to vacuum whilst singing the Pussy Cat Dolls loudly and off-key.

Oh, the stories that these walls could tell.

Nate fixed him a bowl of cereal. The magical deliciousness of Lucky Charms would apparently have to sustain him until two o’clock, when he could take his lunch, because it would seem the spirit of Martha Stewart was no longer moving his husband. Wade picked out the colorful, sugary marshmallows and pushed the bowl back across the island counter with a grimace.

“Wade, you have to finish all of your breakfast.” Nate said, sounding vaguely irritated. “I don’t have time to fuck around today. I have a client with a stopped-up bathroom sink and two inches of water on their floor.”

“Maybe they should build an ark.” Wade snickered behind his hand, only to be swatted with the spatula _again_. “Ow!”

Nate frowned, “Eat the damn cereal.”

“Yes sir, Mr. Krabs sir.” Obliging, he took a big spoonful of now-mushy cereal and shoved it into his mouth, wincing slightly.

“And stop watching so much fucking _SpongeBob_. It’s a kid’s show, for Christ’s sake.”

“Mmm, I’d much rather watch you. You know how much I like watching you…” Wade wet his chapped lips with his tongue, only to have a tube of lip balm come flying at his face, “…work with your hands.”

“Jesus.”

The grandfather clock in the living room chimed ten o’clock, and Wade cursed under his breath, shoveling the mushy cereal into his mouth so quickly he didn’t even bother with chewing before he swallowed. He _gently_ shoved the lunch that Nate had so lovingly prepared into his Hello Kitty backpack – Nate rolled his eyes, muttering under his breath about grown-ass men with ten or twelve screws loose upstairs – before kissing his handsome hubby on the cheek and charging out the door.

He’d only almost died five times on the way to work – a new record! – and pulled into the packed parking lot with a whole three minutes to spare. He probably would’ve been on time, too, had he not had to stop in the doorway to fumble in his backpack for a badge that he was almost certain was back at home, sitting on his bedside table. Well, shit.

And of course, because life just likes to keep piling shit on an already steaming, stinky pile, Ink chose that moment to come by, pushing a long line of carts. Wade wanted to make like Robert Downey Jr. in the second _Sherlock Holmes_ film and blend into the wall, but apparently, yet again, real life paled in comparison to the world of the movies.

“Oh, what kinda tea do you have there?” Ink said, coming so close that he positively _burst_ Wade’s personal bubble. “Can I have some? Just a little taste? _Please_?” And really, that was just fucking weird, even by Wade’s twisted standards.

Wade looked at the travel mug, mildly disgusted at the idea of Ink’s mouth going anywhere near his own, even by proxy. “Um… I don’t really think that you’d like the flavor. It’s really weird.” _And mine, you weirdo,_ he added silently.

Ink apparently couldn’t take a hint, “What flavor is it?”

Wade’s pretty sure he could tell him dog shit and he’d still want to try it. He sighed, “A specialty holiday flavor. This is limited edition stock, on backorder for two months.” Wade said miserably, “It’s white tea with peppermint.”

Ink was grinning from ear to ear, and Wade felt sick to his stomach, “That sounds delicious! I _love_ peppermint.”

“Ha, ha… ha… yes, well, it’s mine, and I’m not particularly comfortable with sharing, so… bye now.”

“Why do you have to be such a spoil sport?”

Wade ended up pouring the tea down the drain as soon as he made it to the restaurant. He couldn’t even look at the traveling mug without thinking about how much he’d like to swat the little bugger like a fly. He couldn’t even laugh when he heard from the busser that they’d had to have security escort espresso-guy off of the premises after he’d put his mouth directly on the water spout on the soda fountain and started to drink.

-

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. _This_ is your manager? What is she – twelve?” The woman, who’d been screaming herself blue in the face over a coupon that she didn’t meet the conditions of, exclaimed. Negasonic took a swig of her booze-water.

Wade waved excitedly, “Hi Yukio!”

Yukio waved back, a bright smile on her face, “Hi Wade.”

The woman shoved the coupon into Yukio’s face, causing the pink-haired girl’s smile to falter. “This is discrimination! How am I supposed to enjoy a special meal for my birthday if I don’t eat meat?” She screamed.

Yukio took a step back from the hysterical woman, only for her to creep even closer into her personal bubble. “Ma’am, we have plenty of vegetarian options that would fulfill the requirements of the coupon.”

She jabbed a finger at her tray, “I want macaroni and cheese!”

“You need to have an entrée. The coupon won’t work with just a side.” She continued calmly.

“Is there anyone that I can talk to that’s… _taller_?” Wade was impressed that she hadn’t screamed herself hoarse yet. “Does your company encourage child labor or something? It’s disgusting what big business will do to cut costs these days.”

“Kokyū, Yukio. Sukinī no shiroi josei wa sore ni ataisuru monode wa arimasen...” Yukio pinched the bridge of her nose.

“We’re in America – speak fucking English!”

Goody two-shoes, employee of the month thirty-three months running, and winner of manager of the year, Piotr Rasputin chose that moment to make all nearly seven feet of himself known. Yukio’s relief was practically palpable as she all but shoved the big man at the extremely irate customer, before linking arms with Negasonic and whisking her off to the backroom to abuse the poor cappuccino machine until its foam-covered gears cried uncle.

Ah, to be young and in love. Wade could remember the first time that he’d shacked up with his manager. It had been the summer of ’81, and the flowers had been in full bloom. Wade had learned a great deal that summer, including how much strenuous activity one of those sleek, plush office chairs could handle… and how much detail one of the high-def security cameras they’d installed in the break room could pick up. He could count each of the dimples on his ass.

Speaking of ass… he reached into his pocket and pulled out a quarter, flinging it at the beautiful, solid globes of Piotr’s ass. It bounced off, predictably, and traveled a whole two feet before hitting the ground with a _clack_. “Beautiful.”

“Wade, now is not time to play games.” The woman looked positively lethal as soon as she heard Piotr’s thick, Russian accent. “Now, what seems to be problem, ma’am?”

“The problem? You have a bunch of idiots running the ship out here, that’s the problem!” She shoved the coupon into Piotr’s massive chest, only to howl when her fingers mashed painfully into the hard wall of flesh.

“Ma’am,” he gently removed her hand from his chest. “I want to help you, but if you continue to act in this manner -,”

His phone vibrated in his back pocket, and he pulled it out to find that Nate had sent him a selfie – the older man was halfway beneath the sink, sans shirt. Each of the muscles in his arm gloriously flexed as he worked to install a new stop valve for the water. God, little Wade was trying to punch a hole through his jeans…

“Is macaroni and cheese too much to fucking ask for?” When he tuned back in to the hysterical customer show, starring psychotic coupon lady, he found her _crying_ over her plate. “It’s just… you guys have the best mac n’ cheese.”

Wade rolled his eyes, “We literally just defrost it, pour it out of the bag, and reheat it.”

“Not helping, Wade.”

“We come here specifically for the mac n’ cheese. We just can’t make it like this at home.” She sniffled pathetically, “I just wanted to enjoy a bowl of your delicious mac n’ cheese for my birthday, and _you’re_ trying to screw me over!”

Piotr’s left eye twitched as the woman continued her little show, “There is no reason for tears, ma’am. You can have macaroni and cheese as side with entrée, and fulfill coupon requirements.” He tried to reason one more time.

“I don’t _want_ anything other than the mac n’ cheese. I’ll throw it in the trash. That’s food that you could’ve saved for the poor. There are starving children in Africa, and you’re going to stand there and force me to throw away food -,”

Piotr threw his hands in the air and turned to Wade, disgusted. “Just give her the fucking macaroni and cheese.”

Wade snickered, “You’re going to hell now, big guy.”

He rang the coupon through the register, just as Piotr had instructed him to do. Just as the receipt printed out, a man saddled up on the wrong side of the register, a coffee mug filled with a murky liquid in hand. The man took the liberty of loudly explaining to him that the mug did not, in fact, contain a cappuccino – no shit, Sherlock – and that something was wrong with the machine. Wade told the nearest busser, who confirmed that the machine was just rinsing. Not only that, but it had displayed that fact in big, bold letters on the touch screen, and he’d stuck his cup underneath anyway. Wonderful.

He handed the receipt to the woman, who was shoving large spoonfulls of mac n’ cheese into her mouth. Cheese and spittle dripped down her chin. “Have a terrific day, ma’am.”

“Go fuck yourself, Scarface.” She said, before leaving to terrorize him another day. What a lovely lady.

\--

It was never a dull moment in the world of retail. If he thought that his boss was cutting him a break, taking him off the register and having him run the staff cafeteria… well, he’d known his boss for almost two years, and he knew the not-so-jolly silver giant was not likely to cut him a break. He was always pushing for him to be a better person, spouting some load of barnacles about how he had a ‘good heart’ or some other such nonsense.

So how was he supposed to flex that big ol’ heart of his? By performing a labor of love and cleaning out the entire staff refrigerator, apparently. Ironically, Yukio had used that same job as a punishment for Negasonic after the Justin Bieber lookalike had forgotten their four month anniversary. He sympathized with Negasonic – such a weird anniversary to remember.

Wade was on his knees, scarred hands covered in thick, purple gloves and a spray bottle and wet rag nearby. He’s got all of the lunch boxes and take-out bags sitting on the counter and was getting nasty looks from coworkers who had to deal with lukewarm food. But hey, he’d bet money on the fact that they’d rather have warm food than food soaked in 409.

Then again, he had some pretty fucked-up coworkers. Who knows? Some of them might get off on that.

Like Ink, who’d managed to track him down yet again. He slapped one grimy hand onto the chrome-finished refrigerator door and leaned over Wade’s prone body; it was _so_ obscene. “Pretty thing like you, I bet your used to being on your knees.”

Wade choked on the air, inhaling so many industrial-strength cleaning fumes that he positively swooned. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” The bastard had the nerve to sound _proud_ of himself, and when Wade met his gaze, he had this creepy, registered sex offender-esque smile on his face. “I bet there’s so many ways I could put that mouth of yours to use.”

Wade yanked off the glove covering his left hand and shoved his pruned-up flesh in Ink’s face, waggling his impressive wedding set so that it caught the light – he hoped the fucking diamond blinded him. “I’m married.”

“He doesn’t have to know.” Ink cooed, “C’mon, baby, loosen up a little bit -,”

“Okay, that is wrong on _so_ many different levels. You need to learn how to take ‘no’ for an answer and leave me the fuck alone.”

Ink scowled, somehow managing to make his tattooed face even more menacing. “Y’know, they said that you were easy. All I’m seeing is a fucking prude.”

Wade stared at him blankly. He couldn’t remember a time when he’d literally been rendered speechless by the utter stupidity and loutishness of another human being… but here they were. The staff cafeteria was literally packed to the brim with coworkers, several of them definitely close enough to have heard their exchange, yet nobody said a word. It was as if they were pointedly ignoring the scene before them, like if they somehow failed to acknowledge it, it wouldn’t be real.

One day his prince would come, but clearly, that day was _not_ today. So Wade exited stage left, leaving the devastation of lunch boxes and cleaning supplies behind in his wake. He made it all the way to the bathroom before collapsing in one of the stalls and digging around in his pocket for his cell phone. Once he had the phone in hand, he scrolled through his contacts until he came to **ONE EYED GRANDPA W/ WINTER SOLDIER ARM <3** and typed a quick message.

W: Need u 2 come get me

N: I’m at work. Besides, you drove yourself to work today. Just drive home.

W: Need u 2 come bust some heads

_Wade sent a GIF of a cat running head-first into a mirror reflection of itself._

W: The fate of the world is @ stake

N: Drive yourself home, and I’ll make chicken tenders and French fries for dinner.

_Several seconds pass…_

W: The ones shaped like dinosaurs

N: Would I make you anything less than the best?

W: I’ll be home in 15!!!

Wade was off of the floor and out the door so fast, he didn’t even notice when his phone buzzed yet again.

N: Rush home all you want – we’re still not eating till 7.


	2. Punch Me, I'm Dreaming

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings for this chapter include: sexual harrassment, etc.

“I think that we should have sex,” Wade announced bluntly, lewdly sucking the grease from his half-eaten bacon slice off of his scarred fingers. Nate coughed so hard that coffee almost came out of his nose, “In the break room. At work.”

Nate blinked slowly, as if he was having trouble comprehending the newest level of stupid his husband had stooped to. “I already know that I’m going to regret this, but… what in the world would make you think that that is a good idea?”

Wade smiled, “Well, Yukio was telling me about how she walked in on Rogue getting it on with two of the new hires and -,”

“Is nothing sacred anymore?” He could just imagine the bubbly, pink-haired teen going into explicit detail about it, too.

“I mean, if you’re willing to bear it all in front of security cameras powerful enough to pick up the color of your eyes from one-hundred feet away, you kinda blow that door wide open with a fucking IED.”

Nate’s left eye started to twitch, “As sound as your logic may be,” he took a long sip of coffee, “This is gonna be a firm _no._ ”

Wade pouted, batting his non-existent eyelashes, “Why do you have to be such a spoil-sport?”

“Because I don’t need your coworkers to be intimately aware of how many scars you have on your perfect ass.”

Admittedly, the only reason he’d brought it up was because he hadn’t figured out how to tell his beloved hubby about his not-so-secret admirer. While it was a long-shot, he was fairly certain that the freak of nature known as Ink would finally get the message if he walked in on Wade being plowed by his very own, personal silver fox. Either that, or he’d try to join in, and Nate would snap his neck like a twig. Really, Wade didn’t see a downside here.

Wade turned his pathetic gaze onto his near-empty coffee cup, and Nate heaved a dramatic sigh, before climbing to his feet and making his way into the kitchen to fix him another cup. As the Keurig churned out a new cup of pumpkin-spice coffee (he always insisted that Nate stock up on it every fall, so he could indulge in his fix during the summer), Nate finished dressing – slipping the straps of his suspenders over his shoulders and hooking them into place with a sharp _click_ and holy shit, that shouldn’t be hot but Wade could feel an unhealthy amount of blood rushing south anyway…

He could see Nate’s mouth moving and somewhere in the back of his perpetually-fucked mind, where 2 + 2 still equaled four, he knew that Nate was probably telling him something important. Most likely, he was explaining some lame reason that both of them would land in prison for being caught au natural outside of the privacy of their own home – Wade was pretty sure it was called ‘public indecency’. Nate had tried explaining it to him once before, when Wade went down on him in the movie theatre bathroom halfway through _Fifty Shades Freed_. Wade was too busy gagging on ten inches of cock to really care.

Nate continued talking, but Wade was far too concerned with the sudden realization that his husband could’ve been a hipster in another life – well, if he could stand being inside of a Starbucks for more than twenty seconds without making some sort of quip about their horrendously overpriced drinks and then ordering a black coffee with no sugar, which he could have just made in the brewer at home. But seriously? Infinity scarf and suspenders? That beautiful metal arm angled just so that the fluorescent light caught Wade right in the eyes? The man was a walking, talking wet dream.

And Wade was officially hard enough to pound nails. Nate caught him not-so-subtly attempting to adjust himself in the seat, and with five whole minutes left until he needed to leave for work, this left him with two options:

1 – the world’s fastest quickie (he wasn’t kidding – the kitchen might not actually survive what he was prepared to unleash on his husband’s ass…)

2 – the idea of mind over matter (convincing himself that he could keep the hard-on at bay until he got home at 6:30, which may ultimately prove to be more satisfying because Nate was always more… _creative_ when he knows Wade’s been a good boy)

“Jesus, is there _anything_ that doesn’t get you hard?” Nate shoved the coffee at him, the richly-scented dark liquid steaming inside a dark red traveling coffee cup which read: **OK, BUT FIRST… COFFEE**.

“Asshat coworkers that think that sexual harassment is the way to get my attention.” Wade blurted before he really had a chance to consider what it was he was saying. Nate frowned, and all of the color drained out of his face.

Nate looked positively murderous as he said, “That was… uncomfortably specific. Is there something you need to tell me?”

Wade hurriedly shook his head, “No, no, no. Nothing at all. Everything is fab-oo. Look at the time – I really have to go -,”

Nate grabbed his wrist as he tried to bolt out the door, holding firm and forcing the younger man to turn and face him. “Wade, in all seriousness, you know you can tell me anything, right? If there’s something bothering you, I want to help.”

 _Yeah,_ Wade nodded, swallowing hard, _but I really just don’t have the kind of money needed to bail you out of jail just chilling in my bank account._ “I know. And trust me, you are _really_ fucking hot when you want to hurt someone.”

Nate rolled his eyes, “You need to calm the fuck down before that thing puts a hole in your last pair of decent work pants.”

“You weren’t complaining when that _thing_ was shoved so far up your ass last night, you saw stars.” Wade retorted proudly.

Nate frowned, “You’re deflecting.”

“What’s there to deflect? Nothing happened.”

Okay, so perhaps ten years in special ops had taught him a great many things – how to jump out of an airplane, how to deploy a parachute and land in a non-lethal, gut-wrenchingly gross and yet still somehow comical manner, how to love… okay, maybe not the last one, but you catch his drift – but he could say, with all certainty, he’d never been taught to lie. Maybe it was because they simply didn’t see the merit in wasting their time on the world’s _worst_ poker face (though really, Nate’s was worse, trying to admonish him with that exasperated-yet-amused little smirk on his face), or maybe it simply had no practical conjunction with jumping out of the back of an airplane. Who knows.

What Wade _did_ know was that Nate had seen right through him, like he was a giant plane of glass and not a flesh and bone man sporting a raging love-boner for his wannabe hipster hubby. Nate didn’t like being lied to – honestly, who did? – especially regarding something of this magnitude. But Wade also knew that Nate would snap Ink like a twig, which, while it would undoubtedly be entertaining in the moment, would prove to be more trouble than it was worth.

“We’ll talk about this later, alright?” Wade conceded. He had absolutely no intention of bringing it up later, hoping that he’d be able to erase his memory of this morning via sucking his brain out through his dick.

Nate narrowed his eyes at the younger man, and Wade could feel that shit in his bones. “Yeah, I think that we will.”

\--

Wade hated training new coworkers. Especially when said coworker didn’t know when to shut her mouth. The first day they’d partnered up, she’d left her post no less than seven times. The first had been because she couldn’t seem to go five minutes without something in her mouth – admittedly, she’d left the door wide open on that one, and Wade was a little bit disappointed that he’d taken the high road and let that one slide… - and just _had_ to get something to eat. The next was because of stomach cramps so awful she was _sure_ that she’d started her period – she’d then proceeded to launch into a fifteen minute, one-sided conversation about the horrors of her menstrual cycle that had Wade ready to claw his eyes out.

Third, she absolutely _had_ to sign up for their store’s reward card… like, right that second. In the middle of ringing a customer for their order. Wade had offered them an apologetic smile, which seemed to placate them until they realized that she’d overcharged them almost seven dollars. Fourth, she had to check the break schedule (he couldn’t count the number of times she consulted, re-consulted, and questioned the break schedule during the duration of their shared shift), only to not understand that the break labeled .5 was supposed to be her half-hour lunch break. He didn’t even know how to help that level of stupid.

Fifth, she _had_ to go on break with the two little chippies she’d been hired with, and didn’t come back for an hour. Now, Wade wasn’t the greatest at math, but he was pretty sure that 15 and 60 were not the same number. Sixth, because the busser was bitching because Yukio didn’t bring him a cupcake (the man was forty-three years old and whining… over a cupcake) and she decided that the solution was to give him her half-eaten cupcake. Wade really should’ve taken a picture of his face and made it his screensaver, it was that good.

And last, but certainly not least, the infamous ‘I’m bored, so I’m just gonna wander around aimlessly and not listen to a damn thing that you’re saying, only to turn around and blame you and your horrendous training skills when management throws me to the wolves and I don’t even know how to turn the register on’.

And then she came out with, “So are you, like, talking to anyone?”

He’d been tuning out her ramblings for the past half-hour, so it took longer than he cared to admit for her words to register. He then spent another thirty seconds trying to figure out how to tell her that he was happily bumping uglies with the meanest SOB he’d found that was dumb enough (smart enough?) to get down on one knee and propose. Thankfully, they were interrupted by a customer who was trying to get a side salad at 9:30 am.

“Where are the bowls for your salad bar?” The woman was, conveniently, standing directly in front of the crate full of bowls. Wade motioned for her to look down… she stared at him blankly, making awkward levels of eye contact.

“What does Shrek say to Donkey when he’s crossing that rickety old bridge in the first _Shrek_ movie? Don’t look down? Well, look down.” Wade offered flatly, causing the annoying girl beside him to laugh and the woman to sneer at him dramatically.

The woman smacked her lips wetly, “You’re an ass.” Reaching down to grab a bowl, she continued, “Don’t you have any tongs?”

Wade shrugged, “Not my department. You’ll have to ask them at the serving line.”

Unluckily for him, when the woman huffed and turned away, his new companion launched right back in to their earlier conversation. She looked at him expectantly, and for a moment he was sure that she was asking because she was looking to cut herself a little piece of this not-so-handsome not-quite-bachelor. Apparently, he took too long to respond to her question, because her eyes had that hazed-over quality of one approximately three seconds from falling asleep.

“Um… yes?” He offered after a completely inappropriate stretch of time. She looked at him like he’d grown a second head.

She snickered, “You sure about that? Because it took you an awful long time to answer.”

“I’m just trying to figure out why my personal life is any of your concern.” Wade shot back, voice dripping venom.

Clearly unable to read the writing on the wall, she continued on as if she hadn’t heard him, “I mean, it’s just… you’re so _plain_. I couldn’t see anyone wanting to actually be with you.”

Wade’s left eye twitched, “I’m married.”

“Are they blind? Because two and two aren’t equaling five here, man.”

“Two and two actually equal… you know what, it doesn’t actually matter. We’re done talking about this.”

\--

“Do you have any straws?”

“You don’t have any straws? That seems a little unfairly biased against three-year-olds, don’t you think?”

“ _You_ need to get me a straw. My child can’t possibly drink out of a milk carton.”

“You only have straws in the café downstairs, with the paper cups? Ridiculous!”

If one more customer flipped out on him about straws (or rather, the lack thereof), he was pretty sure that he was going to scream. There were days that he wished that straws were like pennies – you always had a shit-ton to spare. Unfortunately for him, customers were lazy and didn’t throw their shit in the trash before loading it onto the racks to be taken back to the dish room, and straws got caught in, and proceeded to break, the dishwasher one too many times.

Wade stood at his register, sipping at his bean juice and wondering how pissed off his dear hubby would be if he came home with the big announcement that he’d turned in his two week’s notice, when it happened. The very ground seemed to tremble beneath this freak of nature’s feet, people scurrying to clear him a path before they were torn to shreds like a well-loved tennis ball that had become a casualty of the lawnmower. He walked over to the crates of cups and plucked out a coffee mug and a fountain drink glass, both of which appeared to be freakishly small in this Juggernaut’s hands.

He shoved his reward card in front of the scanner, before announcing that he was ‘just getting water’ and stalking off. Because Wade most certainly did _not_ have deeply rooted trust issues – his father never coming back from that cigarette run when he was four-years-old did _not_ scar him for life, damn it! – and perhaps because he was smart enough to realize that the man could snap him like a twig without any real effort, he didn’t feel the need to watch him and confirm that he was really filling the glass with water. It wasn’t until Negasonic cleared her throat loudly and pointed at the fountain that he saw…

That bastard had a tall, ice-cold glass of Coca-Cola. You really can’t trust people as far as you can throw them.

“You should really call the manager. This isn’t the first time that he’s tried to pull this shit, and I don’t like the look on his face.” Negasonic said, jabbing a finger in the big man’s direction.

Wade frowned, “I don’t even know how you can see the sorry bastard’s face. He’s wearing a fucking ski mask.”

“He looks like he’s gearing up to rob the place.” Negasonic agreed, “Call Piotr. I’m pretty sure that, if either of us try to say anything to him, he’d snap us like a twig. And I just spent the last of my paycheck on a new tattoo.”

If Wade had had an eyebrow, it would’ve been raised so high it would’ve been touching the ceiling. “What the fuck does that have to do with… I don’t know, _anything_?” He asked, voice rising in pitch.

Negasonic shrugged, “I can’t afford stretch marks.” And then she cocked her head to the side, “He’s getting _another_ soda.”

As it turned out, Piotr had left five minutes before, leaving them with no manager for the rest of the night. When the freak-of-nature got up for a _third_ drink and made steady eye contact with Wade the entire time, smiling like he’d just gotten away with murder, Wade left to go consult with security. Soda might’ve seemed cheap as hell, but it certainly added up quickly and he wasn’t in the mood to have that taken out of his paycheck. It was around the time that Wade was making his way back upstairs, two security officers in tow, that he noticed a familiar glint of silver at the serving line.

“All I Have to Do is Dream” by the Everly Brothers started playing inside his head as Nate grabbed his dinner and wandered over to the fridge to grab himself a bottle of cherry cola. He must’ve come straight from his last job, since he was still in his tool belt and work boots. He was still wearing those motherfucking beautiful suspenders and oh shit, now is _not_ the time to be sporting a massive woody… Security continued to babble beside him, the words going in one ear and out the other.

The Juggernaut came back to the serving line, grabbed a carton of chocolate milk, and walked back to his seat without paying. Directly in front of security. The two security officers shared a glance, before contacting their supervisor for direction. During that time, Nate made his way over and set his tray down beside his register. Wade offered him a bright smile and tried to ignore the way the big man crushed the milk carton in hand and tossed it across the restaurant…

“How’s your night been going? You haven’t blown up my phone with obscene pictures yet today – I worried that you’d up and died.” Nate said, before showing that the last message he’d received from Wade had been to tell him safely arrived at work.

“Oh, we’re having _so_ much fun here.” He inclined his head to Negasonic, who was swaying on her feet. Too much booze water.

As if to make things _even better_ (because, really, how did things get any worse), Ink saddled up on the other side of the register, “Hey, handsome. Where’s that smile?”

Nate scowled, “Wade, who the fuck is this?”

 _Oh, lord, now would be the fucking perfect time to just blow chunks all over my register… it would just be the icing on the cake of this perfect fucking day._ Thankfully, Ink spoke for him, “Hmph. Your Daddy come to visit you at work, cutie?”

All of the color seemed to drain out of Nate’s face, only for it to come flooding back and stain his cheeks a very unhealthy shade of red. _Shit, shit, shit_ , “No, you douche. This is my _husband_.” How was nobody else seeing this?

Ink didn’t even miss a beat, “You sure that you don’t want to trade him in for a newer model? I bet he can’t even get it up anymore.” He snickered. Nate’s left eye was twitching, but he still hadn’t said anything.

Wade frowned, “Don’t you have a toilet to unclog or something?”

“One of these days I’ll get you to see things my way.” Ink said, before stalking off.

“You just keep thinking that.” Wade took a deep breath to steady himself, before turning back to his husband. “I’m sorry about that. It’s gonna be $8.35.”

Nate reached into his back pocket and handed over a $10, before saying, “Thanks. I’ll see you at home.”

Wade wanted to say something, but Nate cut him off with a soft kiss to his jawline. He wanted to return the sentiment, but Nate disappeared just as suddenly as he arrived, and Wade was left alone with the two security officers. As it turned out, they’d decided to do absolutely nothing about the stealing, choosing instead to let him off the hook and _hopefully_ catch him another day. Wonderful. Just wonderful. Why the fuck did there have to be two hours left in his shift? This was the kind of shit you dropped before the script instructed you to **EXIT STAGE RIGHT.**

\--

“Honey, I’m home!” Wade called excitedly as he burst in the door two and a half hours later. He was met with… nothing. No exasperated yet fond eye roll, no steaming plate full of whatever food he’d begged for for dinner that day…

Come to think of it, the older man’s truck hadn’t been in the driveway either.

 _Nothing to be worried about, Wade_ , he told himself as he kicked off his shoes (Nate hated when he would track mud into the house, even if he insisted that his shoes were practically brand new and _never_ had any mud on them… except that one time he’d stepped in dog crap and gotten it all over the carpet, but that _still wasn’t mud_ ) and shuffled into the kitchen. Along the way, he turned on the answering machine and let the messages start to play.

Most of the messages were from 1-800 numbers that he wasn’t entirely sure how they got his number. One particularly interesting message was from an extremely hype salesman who was _certain_ that he needed a Life Alert. Because apparently, thirty-six was the new seventy. Which was news to him. Though he might feel like a seventy-year-old man when leaving work some days, he still had many years left as a perfect trophy husband before he needed to worry about Nate coming home to find him unconscious in the bathtub.

He’d just pulled a cup of blackberry Greek yogurt when the machine clicked over to a new message, _“Hey Daddy! Hey Wade! Guess what? Mrs. Wright picked me to be first chair cello in the orchestra this year! You’re coming to my concert, right?”_

Oh, shit. Shit, _shit, **shit**_ **…** Wade shoved a spoonful of yogurt into his mouth before frantically flipping through the pages of the SPCA calendar tacked up on the freezer. He’d completely forgotten to put in PTO for his step-daughter’s concert – he had to be the world’s worst step-father. He’d taken pity on Negasonic and taken her five hour shift so that they could spend Yukio’s birthday together, adding it onto his morning shift to make his total time in hell a whopping thirteen hours.

 _“Mommy’s making a special dinner, and she said that you two could come over a little earlier and we could all drive over to the concert together. But she has to know by tomorrow if you guys are gonna be able to make it. I really hope that you can -_.”

And _fuck_ , if Nate didn’t absolutely lose his shit over the fact that Wade hadn’t remembered to put his PTO in – even though he was pretty sure he’d told Nate that he’d done it, and had chosen instead to sit there and read _Frozen_ fanfiction – he’d be angsting for _hours_ over the fact that his ex-wife had remarried and she and the new husband had primary custody of Hope. And it really shouldn’t bother him as much as it did, because he knew that she was Nate’s first and the mother of his child and he’d always hold a special place in his heart for her because of that…

It was an issue that would probably need to be addressed at another time. Either that, or he’d push the feelings so far down that they’d only be able to resurface once he was so shit-faced that he couldn’t even remember his own name and lead to an epic, relationship ending fight. But now was not the time to think about that. Now… he really needed to figure out what the fuck had happened to his husband. It was like… nine o’clock. The man only went to three different places.

 _“Well, call back soon!_ ” Hope chimed happily, _“Love you guys! I’ll see you guys soon!”_

The machine turned over to the next message. Wade shoved another spoonful of yogurt into his mouth, humming to himself and checking his cell for any missed texts from his husband. The man was positively anal about letting him know if he was running late, and the store wasn’t so far from their home that he wouldn’t have been able to make reasonable time getting home. But he wasn’t worried. What did he have to be worried about?

The very laws of nature did not seem to apply to his husband. He could probably manage to total his car and walk away from the accident without so much as a scratch.

God, he really hoped that the old fart didn’t go and drive his truck into a tree.

_“Hey, Wade. It’s Piotr. Listen, I know this is late notice but we need an opener for the store tomorrow. I know that you have long shift, but we are really in pickle here. If you don’t call back before nine, I’ll assume you are coming in. Thanks.”_

Wade looked at the clock, feeling all of the air rush out of his lungs like he was punched in the stomach. Well, fuck.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Yukio's rant literally translates to: Breathe, Yukio. The skinny white woman isn't worth it.


End file.
